Lady Charity’s lips pressed together in a thoroughly inviting pout as she appeared to give his query a great deal of thought.
“Shelambasted him?” she guessed at last.
He could not quell his smile or the rush of warmth in his chest. “Yes.”
She bit her lip, then gave him a smile. “At last I have arrived at a correct answer. Now I must have mine for the question I asked of you. Why have you come here?”
His joy was to be abridged, it would seem.
“I wished to speak with you,” he managed, feeling awkward.
Part of him wanted to charge forward and take her in his arms and part of him wanted to retreat and forget all about this nonsense idea of being improper.
Her brows rose as she glided forward, the hem of her dressing gown flitting about her ankles. “Could you not have spoken with me elsewhere?”
“I would have, but I have been unable to find you all day.” He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from giving in to the urge to reach for her.
A charming flush stole over her cheeks as she stopped before him, bringing with her that sweet scent he had come to expect. The scent that haunted him when she was not near.
Her bright-blue eyes burned into his. “I had an aching head.”
Concern for her instantly shot through him. “You did? Forgive me. I did not suppose you were feeling ill.”
She bit her lip, considering him, her expression torn. “That was a lie, my lord. I must beg your forgiveness for telling it. The truth is that I am not ill and my head is perfectly fine. I merely needed some time alone to…reflect on my thoughts.”
Her revelation gave him pause.Hadshe been avoiding him? Damn it, why was courting a lady so deuced complicated? Every woman he had known in his past had been easy to woo. But then, he had made a careful study of erotic treatises, and the ladies in question had been experienced widows. This was different. He was attempting to win a future wife, and everything he had come to Fangfoss Manor believing he knew about both what sort of woman he wanted at his side and how he would set about courting her had been dashed to bits.
“Your thoughts?” he asked, hoping she would pity him and share more.
“Yes,” she answered, and then her gaze dipped to his mouth.
He felt the sear of her stare as powerfully as any kiss. Drawn to her in a way he could not deny, he took the final step that brought them almost flush against each other. Without the barrier of her elaborate gowns and underpinnings, he had his first glimpse of her true figure. The combination of her proximity, the way she had looked at his lips, and the way her dressing gown clung to her curves sent another raw surge of need through him.
He lowered his head, bringing their lips closer. “Have you decided to admit it then?”
Her tongue traced over that pink, lush fullness. “Have I decided to admit what?”
“That you are Flora.”
She blinked. “You know very well that I am.”
Surprisingly, her admission did not feel as pleasing as he had supposed it would. Perhaps because he had worked to earn it for days only for her to offer it so readily. Without fight. Or perhaps because a Lady Charity Manners who was bereft of her customary fire was alarming.
Why, she had yet to refer to him as Wilty.
“Are you certain you are feeling well?” He frowned down at her, wondering if there was indeed some sort of ache in her head, and if she was merely being stalwart because of his uninvited presence in her chamber.
A small smile quirked that tempting mouth upward. “Why?”
“You do not seem yourself.”
The smile faded. “I do not feel like myself. Ever since…”
Her words trailed off.
“Ever since,” he prodded, reaching out to smooth a tendril of hair from her cheek.
It was all he would allow himself. She had not asked him to meet her here, and despite the fires of all-consuming hunger raging within him, he was a gentleman. He had principles.
